


Won't you have a taste?

by dothenaomicampbellwalk



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Restaurant, I really needed to get it out of system, M/M, Osamu is a Chef, Smut, Suna is just a rich boy, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:07:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24850549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dothenaomicampbellwalk/pseuds/dothenaomicampbellwalk
Summary: Put two ounces of Chef Osamu!Add one cup of Rich Boy Suna!Whisk everything together until perfectly combined and voila.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 6
Kudos: 115
Collections: SunaOsa





	Won't you have a taste?

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to my friend Sacchi who ingrained the Chef Osamu idea in my brain. I wrote in three hours without looking away from my screen, and kept thinking about it during WC break. I need to sleep. It's 3 am here.
> 
> There's a lot of French words I threw in here that I personally don't find sexy when translated because you know, cuisine.
> 
> -You can find me on the bird app : @kiyoolicious-
> 
> Please enjoy your meal.
> 
> (if you're uncomfortable with smut, skip the part from "Osamu's skin was so hot" to "not without another taste of each other's lips".

The aggressive camera flashes hitting his eyes harder than the us finally turned off and Osamu was put out of his misery. Posing all morning his arms crossed on his chest or behind his back with a forced smile happened to be a lot more exhausting than he expected. Becoming the Chef of a five stars, worldwide renowned hotel had many perks, but it also came with its lot of obligation. It’s been a year and things went fast, too fast. The boy from the Hyogo prefecture, freshly arrived in Tokyo with a bag full of mismatched socks and dreams finally became who is strived to be. A renowned Chef in the culinary world. It was a good thing that he was late 90’s kid who knew how to use social media. He started out as a kitchen help to finance culinary school while becoming famous on Instagram with the recipes he would try.

And Osamu was, to say the least, brilliant. Becoming a Chef was fate and he always knew it. Just like his twin brother Atsumu was fated to become a brilliant and important volleyball player. He always that the thought that things didn’t happen for no reason and that to every action there’d be consequences. He believed in fate, that everything was written but with the possibility for him to shape his destiny the way he wanted and chose the path that suited him best to achieve his goals. So he did. He didn’t listen to Atsumu in their senior year when he told him he would never be happy if he stopped playing volleyball. He didn’t listen to his girlfriend from that time when she said it was mistake to live for Tokyo with nothing but too high expectations. He didn’t listen to his father when he said it was temporary, that he would eventually come back when things would be better before he left and never showed up again. Osamu wasn’t the type of person to listen to opinions and promises other than his. A flaw, a bad one. But he lived his life this way and enjoyed every bit of it. And it wasn’t like he didn’t listen to constructive criticism or else he would just be full of himself and would’ve never had a successful career. But he always took these advices and opinions with care and pondered them night after night until he came up with an idea shaped with his own brain, to perfectly fit him.

At 27, it was nearly impossible to have a success story such as his, and yet he did. Interviews, talk shows, TV shows (and he had been asked to be a judge on Master Chef Japan’s newest edition), a book about to be published (he seriously needed to answer Akaashi’s calls), and his own name on his own apron in a jaw-dropping world class hotel.

Once the photographers and journalists finally left, he was ready to give orders to his under-chef, Yamaguchi. As usual, he trusted him to be exactly like him during lunch time. Osamu was in charge by night, leaving Yamaguchi build up some balls to be a decent, respected leader. That guy needed that and would someday become really good at it.

Friday night was always busy and animated. Osamu loved the thrill of having a lot if not too much customers and be overwhelmed by their demands and questions, and the breathtaking rush that kept the kitchen on its two feet. Osamu was addicted. And recently, something else became a source of rush and addiction or rather, someone.

A group of well-heeled friends religiously came every Friday night, wearing fancy suits and watches and ordering the finest wine, usually a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon to accompany their Kobe beef. One of them, a seemingly haughty green-eyed man with dark brown hair falling on each side of his fox like face, always called for the Chef to pay his thanks and respects. His dark circles weren’t too pronounced but still enough to be noticed. If he said he wasn’t slightly intimated by his laid back demeanor, he would be lying. Thanks to his brother, Osamu was used to be around rich and famous people full of themselves. But there was something about this green-eyed man, something about his aura, that unsettled Osamu. But he found himself dumbfounded when he realized he referred to this person as the _green-eyed man_ , and that he got nervous and excited first thing when he entered the restaurant on Friday nights. His staff noticed too, but they knew better than to say anything.

As Osamu heard, these young men were the talk of the capital. After all they were young, handsome, and crazy rich. It wasn’t uncommon for him at all, he literally ran a world class restaurant and was himself well-off. But these men, they were asian rich. Heirs of ancient and well-known families in the archipelago. They were offered the world on a golden plate the day they were born and lived by their title. Only this type of people could afford eating at such a restaurant, every Friday, and staying the night in the most expensive suites the hotel had to offer, in order to please the ladies they often brought with them. And they threw parties. Demential, sensational parties with a very selective guest list.

That one Friday night, Osamu shivered a little as one of the waitresses informed him he was awaited by the usual customer, the _green-eyed man_. He adjusted his white apron and pass a hand through his dark hair. He heard Tanaka whispering to Yachi that it was, again, the hot guy calling for the Chef. He smirked to hide his nervousness and wiped off his sweaty hands on his pants.

Osamu escaped the kitchen and his eyes didn’t search for long around the huge and well-decorated room to find the mysterious customer. At his table was sitting a man whom he recognized as Kita Shinsuke, a respected man and heir of a loaded family who made a fortune in the rice production industry in the early 1900’s. Next to Kita was another famous man, Kuroo Tetsuro. A new rich young man who became famous after winning an award for a major scientific breakthrough that Osamu had no clue about. Osamu stopped on his tracks and for a moment became hesitant, as he watched the woman next to _him_ leaning on his shoulder, laughing. He quickly regained composure, knowing well that it was stupid to get jealous, and for a straight man.

“Gentlemen. Enjoying your night, I hope?” Osamu politely nodded his head as he reached their table. They all agreed on having a blast.

“Hey, Suna, don’t you get tired of bothering the Chef every time we come?” Kuroo asked, raising his eyebrows and rotating his glass of expensive wine in his hand before smellingit in and taking a sip. Suna. His name was finally revealed and Osamu’s hands trembled a little behind his back.

“I really don’t mind.” Osamu declared, his eyes falling on _Suna_ who was eying him with an unreadable look on his face, igniting an unusual but not unwanted feeling in Osamu’s body. He was so happy to be close to him, to look at his face and memorize each and every feature. He was beautiful, so beautiful that it physically hurt Osamu. But like every Friday night, he simply stood there and pretended not to be over the moon just to make small, professional conversation with the man.

“See, he doesn’t mind. Again, Chef Miya, you’ve astounded us with the menu. I see you’ve included French cuisine.” Suna, who still had the lady’s head resting on his shoulder, didn’t break eye contact with Osamu. His eyes really were a deep green, so _beautiful_.

“Have you tried the _velouté de châtaigne_ for the appetizer? It’s one of my personal favorites. The white truffle perfectly blends in the _velouté_ , it.. it feels like kissing.” Osamu immediately felt silly for saying such a thing, but he couldn’t help it. Cooking always felt intimate to a certain extent, and he often used comparisons with kissing when he talked about it so passionately. But Suna didn’t seem find it weird, and if he did he didn’t let it show on his perfect face.

“No, I had the _tartare de saumon_. It was excellent.” Osamu thanked Suna before he continued, “I’ll make sure to have the _velouté_ next Friday. I would like to have a taste.” The way he put more emphasis on the last words caused Osamu to have indecent thoughts, and he had to push the thought that Suna did it on purpose far, far away.” He bid them goodbye and retreated to his office, exhausted. On his way though, he turned to catch one last glance at the man, Suna, who had captured his interest, but his heart clenched a little as he saw him putting a hand around the lady’s waist as they exited the restaurant.

Later that night, as Osamu lied down in bed and hugged a pillow to sleep, the two syllables fell off his lips and felt bizarre but divine on his tongue; _Suna_.

_____

The following Friday came to slow to Osamu’s liking. He, who always affirmed that time passed to fast, found himself praying for Friday to come faster.

As he promised the week prior, Suna ordered a _velouté de châtaigne_ , and prepared it himself. During such crowded nights, he barely cooked and spend his time between the kitchen to make sure everything was fine and ready on time, and the restaurant’s room to talk to important customers, and later at night, to Suna. But it was a special occasion, because Suna had ordered an appetizer following his advice, and it was one of Osamu’s favorites. He couldn’t explain why it held so much personal implications, but it did. He even served him himself. He knew people would talk and frankly, he didn’t care. He noticed the group of friends wasn’t accompanied by any woman and Osamu smirked to himself in victory. A small one, but still.

“Velouté aux châtaignes et à la truffe blanche. May I suggest you have a glass of Prieur Montrachet.” He made a swift move with his head, indicating the waiter next to him to promptly bring the bottle needed.

“Then I will follow your advice. I’ll gladly have a taste.” Again, Suna emphasized his last words, sending chills down Osamu’s spine. In the blink of an eye, the waiter was back with the sweet poison and poured Suna’s glass until the latter raised his hand to tell him to stop pouring, and thanked him.

“Enjoy your meal. I’ll be back later.”

“Yes, please. Do come back.” If before he seemed to put extra effort to keep his eyes opened, he had completely given up on the task, and the hint of glossy green was barely visible behind his long lashes.

What followed next was unexpected for Osamu, but awfully seemed to be planned by Suna, although Osamu kept his mouth shut about it. It was way past midnight, and everybody had left the place. It was just Osamu and, he had learned earlier, Rintaro, sipping on expensive wine and chatting aimlessly.

Suna’s eyes were piercing through him and he had so much trouble remaining calm. For her six months, the mysterious man diligently came every Friday night, accompanied or not, and asked for Osamu. And for the past six months, Osamu grew more and more interested with _the_ _green-eyed ma_ n, and became unable to deny the attraction he felt for him, with every inch of his body.

“You’re not in good company tonight.” He would later blame it on alcohol, but Osamu’s mind wasn’t blurred by anything but Suna’s smell, shape, and sound.

“On the contrary, Miya.” Suna’s smirk caused his eyes to close a little, as he took another sip of red wine. Osamu could hear his heart beating in his ears and he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Please, call me Osamu.” His face was hot and probably red, and his stomach made olympic level flips. His body tickled with want. No, with need and lust, and the man right before his eyes was the object of all his craziest desires.

“Osamu.” Suna put his glass back on the table and leaned over Osamu, his lips almost pressed to his ear and sending even more chills in the process. “Osamu.” He repeated, and kissed his temple. It was all Osamu needed to let the lust take control of his body to give his all to Suna. He took a fist of brown hair in his hand and with the other, placed his face only a few millimeters away from his. Suna’s breath was hot on his lips, and as they finally kissed, Osamu found they tasted like the wine they had just been sipping on. Their tongues were hot and not very careful to stay inside. The kiss was heated and so wet, saliva fell on Osamu’s chin. Their position was uncomfortable and didn’t give enough freedom to touch, to feel. They broke the kiss and simultaneously stood up.

“My place. I’ll drive.” Suna said and looked equally flustered and shaking as Osamu. He agreed and made sure the lights were all shut down before closing the restaurant. He didn’t even care that his car was still in the parking lot, at the moment it could’ve been robbed or vandalized and he wouldn’t have cared. All he cared about was how he was a bit taller than Suna, and how his fingers felt around his.

_____

Osamu’s skin was so hot and he was convinced he was going to combust. Clothes were off and hands were all over. He had no control over himself whatsoever and he gladly let Suna lead the operation. He left wet, hot, sensual kisses on Osamu’s body and it was almost enough to sendhim to another dimension. Suna was slow, agonizingly slow, and he knew exactly what he was doing. Neither of them talked, enjoying the wet sounds and clapping of skin on skin contact.

Osamu lied on the queen sized bed, his back arching like crazy when Suna took him completely in his mouth. He grew hotter, if that was even humanly possible, and pushed his orgasm as much as he could. His hands were clenching Suna’s hair, but the other didn’t complain at all, too focused on his task. Suna made small noises, proving he was enjoying sucking him like one would suck their favorite flavored lollipop, with extreme delight. He closed his eyes to try and not fall completely into insanity, but when he opened them Suna was looking at him directly in the eyes, his moiety full of him. Osamu felt his hands over his chest, fingers tracing defined pectorals and abs, he couldn’t deny his own climax anymore and let himself reach it without warning. His fire wasn’t going anywhere, as seeing Suna swallowing him all without a complaint and only a devilish smirk sent him directly back to his high.

They switched positions, giving Osamu some control over the situation. He pressed their bodies together and Suna dug his fingers in his back, inevitably leaving marks, while Osamu crashed their lips back together to have yet another feast. He got drunk with the taste of Suna’s lip, tongue, and the gentle teeth biting on his lower lip. He rocked his hips in slow motion, looking intensely at the man under him. His beautiful green eyes stared back at him with passion and permission to go faster, and so he did. The pressed their bodies together even more, wanting to feel every inch of him and already mourning the sensation for when they would break contact. Bodies shivering covered in sweats and legs trembling, Osamu knew it wouldn’t be long before he came for the second time in less than an hour.

Suna reached his climax first and moaned in such a sexy way that it sent Osamu to his orgasm right after. He crushed on the bed, making sure not to suffocate Suna with his body, but put an arm around his waist as they fell asleep in exhaustion, not without another taste of each other’s lips.

Only wearing a pair of boxers found in one of Suna’s drawers, Suna cooked breakfast for the both of them. Scrambled eggs, bacon, and coffee. He put the food on the plates and felt two strong hands on his hips, and an upper body pressing on his back. He smiled.

“Good morning. Hungry?”

“Hmm, yes. Very much so.” Suna’s morning voice was pure bliss in Osamu’s ears. He felt hot lips on his cheek, and they both went to eat at the kitchen’s table.

“I hope you know that when we’re done eating, we’re going for a few rounds.” Osamu warned him. He was in a good mood. A sexy, confident, good mood. Suna choked a little of his coffee and smiled.

“You’ve read my mind.”

**Author's Note:**

> I never want to read this shit again.


End file.
